This cocoon, caught in vesuvius' shadow 

Only the ashes remain 

And I waited there for you 

Why couldn't you? 

Here we lie waiting for something to startle 

To shake us from gravity's pull 

And so the sleeping hours are through 

What can we do? 



The tainted election, the low dirty war, it happened before you came to 

But this is solution, and this is amends 

The joke always tends to come true 

But there on your windowsill over the unmoving platoon 

Written in paperback, the key to the quarterback's room 

Under waning moon 



This quiet serves only to hide you 

Provide you 

What I knew: it'd come back to you 



Take this palm, follow the lines here are written 

And script out the rest of your life 

And feel your fingers falling slack and all folding back 



The sorry coclusion, the hole in the sky 

Command what is tried, what is true 

But without solution, with feet on the ground 

It won't make a sound 'til you're through 

So loosen your shoulderblades 

This is your hour to make due 

Because there on the timberline 

Deep cold november shines through 

Soft and absolute